


the 'dough-kneading is sexy' fic

by patofbutter306



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Warm Happy Safe, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patofbutter306/pseuds/patofbutter306
Summary: i am once again acting up
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	the 'dough-kneading is sexy' fic

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that one gal on tiktok that kneads dough in a very sexy lesbian way that makes me h***y and by hubert and ferdinand being in love

Sensing movement behind him and warmth leaving his back, Ferdinand wakes.

He wonders for a moment where Hubert is off to before his confusion clears in the haze of afternoon sun from their bedroom window.

The lazy, indulgent afternoon nap between rises of bread dough has become a Sunday ritual that Ferdinand always daydreams about in the lulls of the work week. Running an empire doesn’t afford many slow, measured moments, but they’ve managed to carve an undisturbed space for this ritualistic getaway to their apartments, between the weight of Ferdinand’s seniority and Hubert’s threatening aura.

Waiting until Hubert leaves the room is a courtesy Ferdinand wouldn’t normally afford. It’s become a game; Hubert trying his best to carefully extricate himself from their tangle of limbs without waking Ferdinand, Ferdinand in turn reluctant to let Hubert do all the work of tending to their baking but also weak to the warmth of their bed.

Still, there are rare times when he lets Hubert believe he’s won, if only for the pleased look on his face later when he’s able to wake Ferdinand by wafting the delicious smell of fresh bread near his nose.

A stray curly lock brushes him there now, tickling slightly and bringing him back to the surface more solidly with a sniffle.

He hears Hubert’s feet brushing the runner carpet leading from the hall to the kitchen and waits until there’s enough distance that he can rise undetected. Taking a moment to stretch sitting on the side of the bed, he reaches down to scratch at his belly and pat where it blocks his view of his shorts’ waistband. Along the plump rise of flesh there are a couple fading marks; Hubert’s biting kisses here, the sharp dig of fingernails there.

A memory of their roll in the sheets before the first round of napping plays in his mind as he makes his way down the hall, not bothering to throw on his robe when he sees Hubert's hanging untouched.

Ferdinand reaches the kitchen and watches from the doorway as Hubert’s hands move over soft dough, gripping and squeezing rhythmically. He lifts the mass and lets it slap down against the counter, then pushes it forward and begins kneading again. His shoulders are bare, and Ferdinand ogles the area greedily as Hubert's strong grip travels up his arms and into tension and release along the muscles of his back.

When his gaze dips lower, he almost lets out a giggle at the tiny curve of Hubert’s ass wiggling in his shorts. Precious to him for all its scarcity; if Hubert were genetically able to gain more than a pinch of softness along his belly, Ferdinand wouldn't be able to appreciate how their bodies so deliciously contrasted each other. 

He saves himself from detection by shoving a hand over his mouth and tearing his eyes away, back to the dough still being manipulated on the counter. It's barely surprising anymore when Hubert isn't on high enough alert to notice him sneaking up like this; here, at least, they can be completely at ease.

His mind drifts again, mesmerized.

The constant movement of Hubert’s hands slowly removes the loose jiggle the dough’s mass had held on first contact, and the springiness and smooth surface that has taken its place has Ferdinand thinking about those lovely, elegant hands elsewhere.

He thinks of Hubert stroking the curves at his sides, pushing and squeezing the heavy folds at his waist where he’s as soft and tender as the dough.

If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the grip of slender fingers tight around the softest part of his belly, testing the weight of the well-tended roll below his navel.

Daydreams flood him with thoughts of hours from now, when Hubert will hold slices of fresh bread to his lips - warm, soft and slathered in butter and jam - and chase each decadent bite with a kiss; he imagines the crunch of crust, the fresh tangy burst of the season’s first harvest of grapes that had arrived in their grocery order yesterday, cheeses and nuts and dried fruit and salted meats teasing a range of flavours over his tongue as Hubert prepares him another decadent mouthful.

He can almost feel the weight of his pampered belly, so full and round where Hubert massages away the jolt of hiccups, and he chases the echo of that fullness - the tastes, the touches, the devotion with which Hubert’s hands clutch and feed and comfort while he moans at the range of sensation, hard in his shorts but too greedy for another bite to even bother reaching down to touch himself-

-and his stomach makes itself known before he even realizes it's empty, the soft growl seeming to echo into the kitchen beyond.

When Hubert turns, Ferdinand has already placed a hand against the complainant to quell its noise, and the fond smile on his lover’s face as he looks up is worth losing the daydream a thousand times over.

“Hungry already?”

The gravel in his voice still lingering from sleep melts Ferdinand’s heart further. Simply nodding in response, he lets his hand fall as Hubert leaves the resting dough and crosses the room.

Ferdinand is tugged into Hubert’s arms and spun around so that pale and scarred hands can ripple through ginger chest hair and fall atop his soft belly. He sighs in Ferdinand’s ear as they reach their destination, face dipping lower momentarily to lay a few kisses along a freckled shoulder.

Peace, Ferdinand thinks, that’s what he must be feeling.

Hubert turns his head to breathe deeply in Ferdinand’s curls, nosing the nape of his neck and holding him tightly. The hands at Ferdinand’s waist squeeze slowly and purposefully, fingers pressing and stroking in a rhythm Ferdinand would have to be a fool to miss. He lets out the giggle he had stifled earlier, covering Hubert’s hands with his own to join in.

“Are you kneading my dough, mister baker?” He teases.

Hubert’s response, a quiet _hm,_ tickles his neck.

"Muscle memory,” he mumbles, “you’re so soft.”

Ferdinand’s eyes drift closed and he sways in Hubert’s arms, reveling in the moment and forgetting everything that isn’t in the room.

He hates the loss of warmth when Hubert disentangles himself for the second time that afternoon, crossing the room to re-cover the dough in its bowl to rise again.

A thoughtful look crosses his face after he’s already turned to come back to Ferdinand, instead going back to remove the lid from a smiling ceramic pig where they keep sweets. After peeking in for a moment, he shuts the lid and grabs the whole cheerful container.

He turns toward Ferdinand with their entire stock of cookies and candies tucked under his arm securely.

Ferdinand laughs again at Hubert’s ambition, earning a dark grin and a quick swat to his ass on their way to the bedroom.

“Come, darling,” Hubert says as he takes Ferdinand’s hand and backs him towards the bed, “let’s spoil your dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know the drill let's talk about belly stuff we're unionizing [@patofbutter](http://www.twitter.com/patofbutter306)


End file.
